


Alexandreya

by fangirlamanda



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (I promise), (One-Sided Reylo), Ben is a Communist (and not the good kind), Bolshevik Ben, Corgi BB-8, F/M, Han is the best dad, Leia needs a hug, Orphan City, because this is Russia 1927 and most of your parents died in the war, everybody needs a hug, literally everyone is an orphan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlamanda/pseuds/fangirlamanda
Summary: Ten years after the execution of her family, Dowager Empress Leia Solonova has become deeply cynical, isolating herself from the rest of the world inside her Paris flat, with only her Lady-in-Waiting, Countess Rose Tikovna as company. Still, in one last act of hope, she announces a reward for the return of her youngest daughter, the Grand Duchess Alexandreya, rumored to have survived the massacre. Poe Dameron is a Russian street rat from St. Petersburg with his dog, Beatrix, and best friend, ex-royal con, Count Finn Stormonov as his comrades in con-art. Rey is a beautiful but gritty street sweeper with severe amnesia that left her with only three words as a memory of her previous life. Together, the three concoct a plan to pass Rey off as the missing Princess Alexandreya, but not before a Bolshevik officer named Ben hears of their plot.
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Leia Organa & Rose Tico, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey, Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue / Last Dance of the Solonovs

**Author's Note:**

> Potential Trigger Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (champagne), murder, loss of family, and grief  
> None of it is severe in my opinion, but read at your own risk!

**St. Petersburg, Russia | 1907**

__ _ “Mama, why can I not come with you?” the young Duchess pleaded, bouncing up and down on her bed in contempt. The elegant music lilting into her bedroom from the ongoing ball did nothing to calm her nerves. How could her mother be leaving her? _

__ _ “Be still, my love,” her mother whispered soothingly. “Everything is going to be alright.” _

__ _ “But Mama-” _

__ _ “Hush now, Alexandreya,” the Tsarina interrupted, her tone a stern but gentle one. “I am simply leaving on a diplomatic mission. This is not the first, and will certainly not be the last. Someone has to go maintain peace with the French, now don’t they?” _

__ _ “I suppose so,” the seven year-old girl resigned, her chin tilting further towards the floor.  _

__ _ “I do have one last thing for you before I leave,” Leia said with a sly smile. _

__ _ “Really?” Alexandreya piped up. _

__ _ “I was going to wait until Christmas to give it to you,” she said, pulling a square, pink box topped with a white satin ribbon from beneath her winter cloak. “But I thought you might like it more now.” _

__ _ The young girl took the somewhat heavy box with two hands, carefully placing it on her lap. She couldn’t resist tearing off the bow, excitement at her gift coursing through her veins.  _

__ _ “Alexandreya,” her mother chided lightly. “That wasn’t very lady-like.” _

__ _ “Sorry, Mama,” she replied, lifting off the lid. Her small hands reached inside the box and felt something hard and cold. The sides were slightly rounded with intricate details, making it difficult for her tiny fingers to grasp. After a brief moment of struggle, she got a hold of the object, lifting it from the box. _

__ _ It was another box, but this one was different. It was shaped like an onion dome that had had its top flattened, but it was made of gold with blue enamel and pearls decorating it. It was the most beautiful box she’d ever seen, and the top of it had been initaled with an “R”, for her name, Alexandreya presumed. Not her full one, her nickname. Even more special. _

__ _ “Do you know what that is?” her mother asked, smiling at the glee on her daughter’s face. _

__ _ “A pretty box?” _

__ _ “Not just any pretty box. May I?” Alexandreya delicately placed the box in Leia’s open palms. “It’s actually… a music box.”  _

__ _ The Tsarina twisted the dainty handle on the box’s underside before lifting the lid. Inside were a prince and a princess, standing on the bridge that had been built for her grandfather in Paris. What came out next was the most wonderful sound either of them had ever heard, the melody of their favorite song. Their song.  _

__ _ “Dancing bears,” Leia began. _

__ _ “Painted wings,” her beaming daughter continued. _

__ _ “Things I almost remember,” they joined together. “And a song someone sings, once upon a December.” _

__ _ Leia closed the box and placed it on the bed just in time for the little girl to bear hug her, slamming into her chest with a soft “umph”. _

__ _ “I love it, Mama!” _

__ _ “And I love you, my Reya,” she replied, stroking her silky brown hair. "One day, we'll be in Paris together."  
_

__ _ After a few moments, she suddenly jolted up. “Papa!” she exclaimed, noticing Han’s entrance before Leia had.  _

__ _ Alexandreya clamored out of the bed to run over to her father, who swooped down and picked her up with a playful growl in one move.  _

__ _ “Han,” Leia lightly admonished him, shaking her head as she stood. “I was just about to put her to bed.” _

_ “Bedtime already?” her father asked incredulously. _

_ “No, I was just about to go to the ball!” she claimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. _

_ “Well of course,” he responded, nodding his head towards the door at Leia, so she could exit without causing too much of a fuss. The Tsarina pressed a quick peck to the Princess’ head and the Tsar’s lips before leaving the room without another word. Han placed his daughter back on her feet before bowing and extending her a hand. “Grand Duchess Alexandreya Solonov, may I have this dance?” _

_ “Yes, you may.” _

**The Winter Ball | November, 1917**

Alexandreya curtsied to her father and accepted his outstretched hand. He pulled her in to dance as she and her mother’s special song sounded through the grand ballroom. It had become tradition for the orchestra to play the youngest Princess’ special song when the Tsarina was absent. This time was even more special. When their mother was away, the four princesses each got a turn to assume her role at a ball. It went in order by age, beginning with Olga, next was Tatiana, then Maria, and finally Alexandreya. Tonight was her turn. She got to do the “Tsar’s Dance” with her father, where they were the only ones on the floor. 

As her father spun her round and round to the song, she spotted the rest of her family standing off to the side. Her sisters, her younger brother, Alexei, and her uncle, Prince Luke, who had returned to St. Petersburg after the school where he taught philosophy was attacked. She wished her mother were there with them, watching her dance. But with their song filling her ears and the eyes of the Court upon her, Alexandreya felt as if she were honoring her.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Han asked his daughter, lifting her up into the air for a spin.

“Only twice a day since I was born, Papa,” she responded, smiling. Every girl her age yearned for the approval of their fathers, and she’d never been let down by her own. At the prime age of 17, every other girl of her status was being pressured into marriage, but not she and her sisters. Their father only wanted them to be happy, nothing else.

“And your mother certainly feels the same,” he told her. The flush of warmth the compliment sent to her cheeks seem to make its way down to a spot just below her collarbone. There sat a necklace engraved with the letter “R” on the back, and the words, “Together in Paris” on the front. She hadn’t taken it off since her mother had gifted it to her. “But she’s our best diplomat, and she knows how to get whatever she wants from people. Just like someone else I know.”

Alexandreya giggled, she’d always been the type to charm her way into anything, which had admittedly been a more of an inherited behavior of her father’s, as his looks in his even younger days had often led him to the reputation of a scoundrel. With the stress of Alexei’s hemophilia and the Great War, he had become more mellow, but beneath the surface, he was still the same man.

The song ended, and they each bowed to one another. The ballroom erupted into applause for the orchestra, and the Tsar with his lovely daughter. They were then joined by the rest of the family, who held champagne glasses just like everyone else in the room. Alexei handed the youngest sister and their father the two glasses he’d been carrying, before clinging to Alexandreya, barely able to wrap his arms around her waist due to the barrier that the hoop skirt of her dress formed.

“You looked so pretty, Reya,” he told her. They'd all had nicknames as children, and while her other sisters had insisted on being called their full names as they'd grown older, she'd always loved her nickname too much to get rid of it. Even if her parents and brother were the only people to still use it.

“Thank you, Your Young Majesty,” she joked, wrapping her free arm around him and kissing the top of his head.

The Tsar loudly cleared his voice, and a sudden silence fell over the room. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Court, friends, family, as you all know, I’m not one for personal speeches, that is much more my beloved wife,” he teased, eliciting laughter from their royal audience. “However, the Tsarina could not be in attendance for tonight’s Winter Ball, so I felt as if it were only proper to give tonight’s toast in her honor. So, let us raise a glass,” he continued. “To my wife, working tirelessly as a diplomat to our allies in this tumultuous time. To my three oldest daughters, helping everything run smoothly behind the scenes. To my youngest, Alexandreya, who has turned into the beautiful, strong, caring young woman we always knew she would be. To Alexei, may he be the strongest Tsar this empire has ever known. To our soldiers, fighting on the front lines. To the end of this Great War. And to the Russian Empire, may God maintain it for centuries to come.” 

The rest of the crowd echoed back a salute, before raising their glasses to their mouths.

The first drop of bubbly liquid had barely hit Alexandreya’s tongue before the grand door to the ballroom burst open. Within seconds, someone screamed, “Bolsheviks!”.

Olga gasped, dropping her glass. The shattering of the glass seemed to break the Tsar out of his state of shock. He turned to his family and immediately began herding them away. Alexandreya picked up her younger brother, who at 14 was probably too old to be carrying, but his smaller size made it easier, and with his disease, she couldn’t risk him getting hurt. Her father tried to usher them away as quickly as possible, but it was too late. Men in plain clothes with rifles, Bolshevik soldiers, rushed to their sides and began pulling them towards an exit as the ballroom filled with chaos.

“This way!” one of the guards barked, leading them through the palace corridors. 

“Where are you taking us?” her father demanded, still holding tight to his two oldest daughters.

“Silence!” another barked.

Alexandreya panicked, they couldn’t take them away, they hadn’t even packed their things yet. She couldn’t leave. Not without her mother’s music box. She kissed Alexei on the head and handed him off to her Uncle Luke without a word. She ran, splitting off from the group as she darted in the direction of her bedroom.

The guards began yelling, her sisters screamed, and then they fired.

**Paris, France | November, 1917**

Leia paced the study of her Parisian flat. Two weeks ago she’d been notified that Bolshevik soldiers had invaded the Royal Palace during the Winter Ball and it was too dangerous for her to return to Russia. Ever since it had been silent. Not a word about her husband, her brother, or her children. 

They were all she’d thought about in the meantime. It no longer mattered that she was the Tsarina, Empress of All Russias. The Bolsheviks could keep Russia for all she cared. Her family was all that mattered. 

The door to the study suddenly flew open in unusual fashion. Typically, her diplomatic aide, Countess Rose Tikonova, was far more polite when entering a room. In her hand, she held a white envelope with a bright red wax seal.

“Your Majesty,” she said, slightly out of breath from the running Leia assumed she had been doing. “A letter… from home”. 

The Tsarina had to restrain herself from snatching it away. All she wanted to know was that her family was safe. Rose handed her the letter and she immediately went to the desk to cut it open.

“Would you like me to leave, Your…” the Countess trailed off, as Leia unfolded the paper.

It wasn’t in Han’s handwriting, or Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Alexandreya, Alexei, Luke. It wasn’t even handwritten. She scanned the page until she saw the only words that mattered.  _ Solonov family… dead… execution… shot… Bolsheviks. _

She dropped the reading glass she’d been using. It shattered the moment the glass hit the floor, and her heart with it.

“All of them?” she choked out, moving the paper away from her face as her hands shook violently. Rose rushed to her side, catching her just in time as her knees gave out. “All of them?”


	2. A Rumor and A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rumors begin to swirl about the survival of a Grand Duchess, the Princess Alexandreya. This leads Poe and Finn to devise a plan to "find" her, and bring her to Paris for the reward money. Elsewhere, Rey's grueling work as a street sweeper has finally begun to pay off, and she just might be able to afford the forged papers she needs to get out of Russia. She just has to find someone to make them for her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Trigger Warning(s): Minor PTSD and Ben being a creep

A brooding voice echoed through the streets of St. Petersburg, making Poe Dameron grateful for the chilly wind whistling in his ears. Still, that did little to reduce the man’s speech. He turned the corner to the Nevsky Prospect, where a massive crowd had gathered around a man on an elevated podium. Poe couldn’t make out his face from his position almost half a kilometer away, but he knew exactly who it was. Ben Sverdlov was the new Bolshevik commanding officer in St. Petersburg, and he was far more creepy than intimidating, at least in Poe’s opinion. 

“Together, we will forge a new Russia! This prosperous land shall be the envy of all the world!” he proclaimed. Poe was sure he was shaking, and not from the cold. “The Tsar’s wretched St. Petersburg, is now the utopian Leningrad!”

Poe rolled his eyes as he ducked into an alleyway, his back now facing the spectacle in the square. Only a few moments later, he’d reached his destination, a rusted iron door that took tremendous effort to open. Even in his young age, he worried he might pull his back out one day because of it. The warmth of the space came over him like how he imagined a soft blanket would feel. The market was a low-key operation, mostly just con artists trying to sell whatever they’d looted from an old palace or manor, a few working girls, and the older women that sold the cheapest alcohol the city had to offer.

“Hail our brave new Leningrad!” a man standing in a group jeered, raising an empty glass as Poe walked by.

“They can call it whatever they want, it’s always gonna be Petersburg,” he replied.

“New name, same empty stomachs!” another man declared, the others responding with confirming cheers. 

“Kill one Tsar, and another takes his place,” Poe said, leaning against a wooden beam to listen to the conversation. 

“Have you heard the rumors?” an older woman asked, nudging him as she walked by to refill the men's glasses.

“They sure put down the Tsar, but one daughter might’ve gotten away,” loudly slurred a man named Yakov. The market suddenly seemed to be filled with voices whispering the words, “Princess Alexandreya”. Apparently, Poe was the only person who hadn’t had his mind on the Grand Duchess recently. “And I hear, the Tsarina is offering a royal-sized reward for whoever can bring the princess back!” Yakov continued. 

_ A reward, huh? _ Poe wondered.  _ Now _ he was thinking about the Grand Duchess, at least, until he was interrupted.  


“Poe!” a voice called. He turned his head to see his best friend, Finn Stormonov, briskly heading towards him. “The Bolsheviks closed another border! Now we’re really trapped.”

Poe brushed it off. He figured that the Bolsheviks wouldn’t be harder to bribe than anyone else, so they had little to worry about. As long as they could actually find the money.

“Finn, buddy,” he said, throwing his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about the Princess Alexandreya.”

“God, not you too,” Finn sighed, pulling away.

“The Tsarina is offering a huge reward for her return!” Poe insisted, following after him.

“Well, the Tsarina had better be prepared for disappointment,” he said, stopping to look his friend in the eyes. “Poe, I was there that night. I saw the soldiers take them away. I heard the shots, the stories about what happened.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t more Alexandreyas out there.”

“What are you on about?”

“You, my friend, have no imagination,” he deadpanned, earning a scoff from Finn. “What I’m saying is, we find some young, impressionable girl-- preferably one with acting skills-- who’s just looking to get out of Russia. We teach her to be Alexandreya, take her to Paris, and we pass her off as the missing princess.”

“And we get rich just like that?” he wondered, his eyes lighting up.

“Now we’re talking!” Poe cheered, clapping his friend on the back.

Finn grinned widely at him, “You just might be onto something here, Dameron.”

* * *

Rey pulled her windswept hair out of her face with her stiff fingers for what felt like the hundredth time. Despite the gloves, her hands were still freezing as she swept the street in front of the Nevsky Prospect. She’d been trying to learn the city through her menial work, but the only employment she could find was from the Bolshevik government, and they’d only pay her to sweep in certain places. The square had been crowded recently, so she figured she’d get the most pay out of sweeping there. Maybe even find things left behind by busy individuals who hadn’t noticed they dropped something. She’d sell anything she could find, every ruble meant another day of living, and one step closer to getting out.

As she swept, she hummed a melody of a song she often sang, one that she was sure had no name because she’d never heard it anywhere. But it made her feel happy, serene, and that was something she could always use more of. And she did feel serenity, if only for a moment. But of course, something had to come along and ruin it.

Suddenly, a bang rang out across the square. Rey’s vision went dark for a moment and she dropped to the ground. She couldn’t tell if the scream that rang out was her own, or one of the many that appeared in her recurring nightmares. It must’ve come from her because a hand suddenly appeared on her arm. 

“It was only a truck backfiring, comrade,” a brusque voice assured her. She looked up to see a Bolshevik officer, and as if that weren’t enough, his eyes… they made her stomach do somersaults. Not the warm, fuzzy kind when you find someone attractive. Rather, the pure fear and terror kind that made your brain scream “Run away!”. Those eyes… she’d seen them before. “Those days of fighting are over. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

His large hand wrapped around her upper arm and lifted her to her feet. His grip was tight, and it didn’t loosen once she was upright. Her stomach dropped even further,  _ had she done something wrong? _ She still couldn’t bring herself to speak, her tongue felt paralyzed.

“You’re shaking,” he noted. He was trying for compassion, but like most other Bolsheviks, he seemed to naturally lack that. “There’s a tea shop just a few steps from here, allow me-”

“No thank you,” she finally spat out, taking a step in the opposite direction. His eyes on hers felt like he was picking apart her soul, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

“What’s your hurry?” he demanded, much more aggressively. He still hadn’t let her go. Rey’s eyes darted from his hand to his face, and he seemed to get the message. He released her, but she’d be lying if she said her arm didn’t ache in the place his hand had been.

“Can’t afford to lose this job, but thank you,” she said, heading in the opposite direction from the building on the Nevsky Prospect, just in case he’d be returning inside. Thankfully, he seemed to be heading out for the day, and in the other direction from where she’d gone. A wave of relief swept over Rey when she saw him turn the corner. Not trusting Bolsheviks for anything other than a meager wage was just one habit she’d learned in life on the streets. 

The dinging of the clock tower in the square told her that it was 5pm, signaling the end of her work day. The office would be closing in thirty minutes, so she headed inside to collect the 20 rubles she was paid per day. That would afford her a sustainable meal of bread and hot soup from the market.  _ Maybe _ , she wondered,  _ I’d even have some left to set aside _ . As she descended the steps outside the building, Rey’s hand went to the secret pocket that she’d sewn into her skirt. Inside was the money she would only tap into if she were actively starving to death. She put as much as she could into it, sometimes going without a daily meal or new pair of gloves when she desperately needed them. That money was her way out, without it, she’d be right back where she began. 

But with the news of the Bolsheviks closing the borders more and more each day, her opportunity was dwindling. So today was the day she had to act. Rey slipped into an alleyway not far from the square, walking quickly until she reached the rusted iron door that led inside. She pulled the heavy door open with ease, sighing involuntarily at the warm air rushing from inside. The market was dim, lit only by the barrel fires scattered throughout, and cluttered with stalls of people selling mostly illegal products.

Rey headed towards the stand where a few older women ran a bootlegging operation that they fronted by selling hot bread and soup. The woman she bought from regularly, Dasha, was working that day. She was one of the kindest people Rey had ever met, treating her like her own grandchild and giving her the occasional free meal, and on top of that, she had seemingly unlimited knowledge about all the black market dealings in Petersburg.

“Evening, Dasha,” she greeted. 

“Rey!” the older woman exclaimed, the sparkle in her eyes visible even in the dim firelight. “Have a seat, malishka!” she said, gesturing to the wooden stool in front of the stand.

Before she could even get her skirt properly adjusted, Dasha had already placed a large bowl of borscht and a roll of fresh bread in front of her. Rey smiled, as Dasha had shown the most compassion towards her of anyone she’d ever met.

“Thank you,” she sighed, grateful for the warmth that each spoonful provided.

Suddenly, Dasha’s brow furrowed with concern. “You look thinner than the last time I saw you, malishka,” she frowned. 

“I’ve been working hard,” she said between sips of her soup. “I’ve saved every ruble I can.”

The old woman didn’t respond, and her face morphed into a knowing expression as she watched Rey. The soup was gone quicker than she’d hoped, and it hadn’t seemed to satiate her hunger at all, even after she ate the bread.

“Dasha, I need your help with something,” Rey told her, sliding the bowl to the opposing end of the countertop.

“Go ahead,” she nodded. 

“I need papers, do you know someone who could help me?”

The woman leaned forward and nodded, a small smile playing across her lips. “I always knew you’d outgrow Russia,” she replied. Despite the smile on her face, Rey could see the sadness in her eyes as well. 

“Dasha…” she sighed, reaching out to take her warm and calloused hand.

“I know someone who can help you,” she told her, squeezing the young girl’s hand. “His name is Poe Dameron. He’s taken up residence in the old Yusupov Palace.” Thankfully, Rey knew where that was.

“Thank you,” she smiled, reaching for her pocket to pull out the 15 rubles she owed for her meal.

“Ah,” Dasha interrupted, taking her other hand in hers. “You hold onto that money. In fact,” she said, freeing one hand to reach below the counter. “You take this,” the old woman firmly commanded, pressing 50 rubles into Rey’s palm.

“Dasha,” Rey strained out, getting choked up on her own words. “I can’t accept this.” 

“Yes you can, and you will,” she affirmed, her own eyes filling with tears. “Do this, Rey, for me.”

She nodded, placing the cash in her pocket before grabbing Dasha’s hand once more.

“I won’t forget about you,” she promised, squeezing her hands firmly.

“I know you won’t,” Dasha said softly. “Now go.”

Rey squeezed her hands one last time before sliding off the stool. She turned around and headed quickly towards the door. She refused to let herself look back, it would have been far too painful. Dasha’s compassion might have just given her what she needed to finally escape Russia. Now, there was only one thing on her mind.  _ Poe Dameron. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you all enjoyed this new chapter! And would you look at that, I actually updated something in a timely fashion? Be expecting a new chapter very soon, where our golden trio will finally get to meet! :)
> 
> P.S. If anyone were a bit confused by the plot, this is based on Anastasia the Musical, rather than the movie! I'm more of a musical fan myself, and Ra Ra Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine, really freaked me out as a kid, so that's mostly why. I hope you all still enjoy it! 
> 
> P.P.S. I love reading your comments and feedback! It's the best feeling in the world as a writer to know that people actually care about what you're doing, so thank you to everybody who left a lovely comment on my last chapter! Keep em' coming, y'all!  
> \- All my love!


	3. Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey finally meets Poe and Finn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Trigger Warning(s):

“It’s me, mother! Your precious Alexandreya!” the woman cawed, her nasally voice echoing through the old, empty ballroom. Poe turned away as he rolled his eyes. This whole scheme already seemed hopeless. At first, he’d thought it might be his terrible script writing skills, but no. No, these women were just the worst.  _ This is why you don’t audition prostitutes as princesses,  _ he chided himself. 

“Okay!” he declared, probably sounding a bit too eager. He just wanted it to be over. “Thank you ladies! We’ll let you know,” Poe said dismissively, ushering them towards their coats.

Finn joined him at his side, the two sharing a look of uncertainty.

One of the girls approached them, coat in hand, “Do you know how illegal what you’re doing is? Because of  _ you _ , I lost my best hours on the street,” she sneered, her eyes darting from Poe to Finn. “If your friend here weren’t so handsome, I’d report you!”

“Out,” he practically snarled. 

She and the other women turned their noses up indignantly, before storming off. He was fuming at their audacity, but when he turned to his best friend for help, the other man was biting back a smirk. 

Poe pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he walked over to the dusty couch with stuffing protruding from every cushion. Despite its condition, it was still one of the nicest things he’d ever slept on, and for that, he was grateful. He laid back on the couch, allowing his tense muscles to relax for once. Poe reached down into his bag on the floor and pulled out the special item they’d purchased at the market that afternoon.

It was a music box, apparently from the very palace where the Solonov family had resided. It was gold, and had been decorated with pearls and royal blue enamel. They’d bought it off one of the palace scavengers for a few cans of beans, a trade that they never would have made in any situation but this. Poe had insisted that they needed something of Alexandreya’s to show the Tsarina, or Dowager Empress as he’d learned she was now called.

“I still can’t believe you let that guy sell you that thing,” Finn said, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“It’s engraved with an ‘R’! Hello? Her name started with an ‘A’ if I must remind you,” his friend complained. He’d already been miffed at the fact that Poe had traded away precious food for an item that was of no real value to them, but he was  _ pissed  _ when he realized his friend had probably gotten conned.

“It could’ve been a nickname… or something,” Poe mumbled, earning an eye roll from his best friend as he tinkered with the box.

“Whatever it is, you need to stop messing with it before you break it.”

“I can’t get it open,” he sighed, resigning the box to a place on his chest.

“It’s a fake!” Finn declared in exasperation.

“How do you know?” 

“Nobody spots a fake like Count Finn Stormonov,” he said, using the regal royal accent he’d employed when conning his way around the royals. “Biggest fake of them all.”

Poe chuckled despite himself. He often felt pity for his best friend. His father had weaseled his way into the Solonov Court as a count, and had brought Finn along with him. He’d lived a life of luxury provided by others for most of his life, but it all had come crashing down during the revolution. 

“I’ve never actually heard you use that voice before,” he commented, honestly a bit impressed.

“It’s because that man died a long time ago,” Finn sighed, taking a seat in one of the few chairs that remained in the ballroom. “Ah, the day I took off with you,” he smirked, shaking his head.

“It was me or a Bolshevik firing squad,” he quipped, remembering the day he’d saved Finn from one of the many Bolshevik executions carried out on the “bourgeoisie”.

“You saved my life,” Finn remarked, a softness to his voice. 

_ Perhaps they would’ve recalled old memories, stories about their camaraderie, the mischief and havoc they got themselves into at the mere ages of 18. He supposed he’d never know, because what happened next would change everything. Forever. _

Suddenly, a hard knock at the door. A knock like that only had one source:  _ Bolsheviks _ . 

“Dammit, those women ratted on us!” Poe loudly whispered, leaping up from his position.

“Maybe they’ll actually feed us in jail!” Finn replied, ducking behind a large pile of debris that had gathered in the ballroom.

Poe hid himself between the backside of the couch, and the white sheet that had been draped over it. The wall immediately behind him provided far more cover, so it wasn’t the worst hiding spot in the world. From his position, he had a concealed view of the entryway from which the knock had occurred. He waited, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears gave the illusion of a thousand soldiers marching down the hallway. But they never came. 

There was no legion of soldiers. No squad of secret police. Not even a single Bolshevik lackey. Instead, it was a girl.

* * *

The wind carrying through the cracked, and sometimes entirely missing, windows of the Yusupov Palace made a howling sound that reminded Rey of nights in the forests of Siberia. A shiver ran up her spine, and for once it wasn’t the cold. Dasha had told her she could find a man named Poe Dameron here, and he could get her the exit papers she needed to finally escape Russia. So she’d come, under the cover of recently fallen darkness to avoid suspicion. For a while, she’d wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go and trying not to get lost in the maze of what was still the nicest building she’d ever entered. That was, until she heard voices. She’d silently followed the sound towards what she discovered was the ballroom. 

Rey knocked hard on the door, not wanting to startle whoever was inside. Then the voices went silent. For a moment, she questioned if she’d ever actually heard them in the first place. Heaven knows she’d heard quite a few voices over what little she remembered of her life. Some days she couldn’t tell them from her own conscience. But that day wasn’t today. She took a deep breath and further steeled her resolve,  _ do what you have to do.  _

She pushed open one of the large wooden doors and was welcomed with a groan from its old and tired hinges. Only after it clanked shut behind her did she look about the room. There was no one. There was little sign of anyone, actually. The room was dimly lit entirely by moonlight streaming in from the windows that bordered the top of every wall. However, she could smell the smoke from recently snuffed candles. 

Rey walked further into the massive room, scanning it for any sign of life. It was only then that a man appeared, suddenly. He had dark brown skin, a kind yet handsome face, and cropped black hair, something that she hadn’t seen often in Russia. Despite his sudden appearance, she didn’t think he wanted to hurt her. His stance was far more defensive than offensive. 

“I’m looking for Poe Dameron,” she rambled out quickly, on edge from the entire ordeal.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but another voice answered instead, “That’s me”.

Rey whipped her head to her right to see another man, recently emerged from wherever he’d been hiding. Now this man was… different. He had tan olive skin, curls that were a deep brown and seemed to be highlighted with silver from the moon, and dark features that were only accentuated by the dimly lit room. He was ruggedly handsome, unlike anyone she’d ever seen. 

“What do you want?” he asked, probably angry at her for sneaking up on them. 

“I need exit papers and I was told that you could help,” she said, her words feeling like an unstoppable flurry coming out of her mouth.

“Exit papers aren’t cheap.”

Rey reached into her secret pocket, pulling out all the money she had saved, “Here, 150 rubles.” 

Poe scoffed, giving her an incredulous look, “You’re gonna need a whole lot more than that for the right papers.” 

As she reached into her pocket to return the money, her hand brushed against the cold, hard object at the bottom. For a moment, she considered it. But,  _ no, no it’s too valuable. _ It would wait for another day.

“Look, I’m a hard worker, you’ll get your money,” she pleaded, striding behind him to the couch where he was now reclined, his hands behind his head.

“What do you do?” he sighed, looking up at her.

“I’m a street sweeper,” she admitted quietly. Deep down, she knew that she’d easily starve to death before she even came close to affording those papers.

“A street sweeper?” he bellowed sarcastically, earning a small chuckle from his friend, whose name she still didn’t know.

“I worked in a factory in Odessa, and before that I was a mechanic in Perm,” Rey explained, trying to broaden her potential for being useful, and mechanic still might not have been the best word. She’d been hired to take things apart and sell the pieces, but she could’ve put them back together just as easily.

“Well Sunshine, you’re a long way from Perm,” he told her, looking off to the side.

“Yeah, I know, I walked it,” she Rey defiantly. She took a step forward at the same time, daring him to look her in the eyes and take her seriously.

Suddenly, Poe fell silent. It took a few moments before he asked, “You walked here all the way from Perm?” He was shocked, and she could tell once he finally looked her in the eyes. 

“I had no choice.”

He finally removed his hands from behind his head, sitting forward and looking far less nonchalant than he had previously, “What are you running from?”

She hesitated to explain, knowing how it would sound, but eventually gave in, “Running to someone. I don’t know who they are. All I know is they’re waiting for me in Paris.”

Poe’s mouth cracked into a smile, then he was laughing, “Listen to her, Finn, she’s crazy!”

Anger was starting to boil inside of her, and Rey was not the type to get angry.

“I am not crazy!” she half-shouted. “Why are you so  _ difficult _ ?”

“We were hoping you might be someone else,” his friend, Finn, piped up.

“Who?” she asked, turning to where he was now sitting.

“Someone who…” he trailed off. “God, she might not even exist.”

The wind began howling again, and she turned towards the window where it might have come from. That was the first time she’d fully seen the ballroom.  _ Wait!  _ She recognized this place.

“I’ve been here before…” Rey said, her voice soft and low as she looked around the ballroom. “There was dancing, laughter…”

“This was the grand ballroom of Prince Felix Yusupov,” Finn explained in a much more regal sounding voice than he’d used before. Suddenly, instead of silver moonlight, the room was bathed in the golden glow of massive candelabras. 

“I-I know,” she stammered. “Somehow I…”

_ Another memory! _

“There were men, professors! They spoke about philosophy, I listened. One in particular was… very kind,” she recalled. The man, she didn’t know his face. Simply bits of memories.  _ Gray hair, a beard to match, kind eyes, a flash of a smile, the sound of a hearty laugh. Kindness. Love. _

She figured she must’ve looked dazed, because the next thing she heard was Poe grumble, “Jesus, she’s going to faint on us.”

Suddenly he was at her side, a firm yet gentle hand wrapped around her arm and another ghosting over her lower back as he guided her towards the couch he’d been sitting on. He lowered her onto the cushion, before releasing her arm. She looked up at him, and their gazes connected. Somewhere in his eyes, deep in their brown pools, she saw a glimmer of compassion.

“I’ll go fetch some water,” he said, the begrudging tone mostly gone from his voice.

Finn passed by Poe as he walked towards Rey, carrying a thin blanket that had been sitting on a table, “Here,” he said, draping it over her himself. “It’s not much, but it should help.”

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling at him. “You’re very kind, even if your friend is not so inclined.”

Finn sighed, a somber expression playing across his face, “Don’t be too hard on Poe, life hasn’t been easy for him.”

“Life hasn’t been easy for any of us,” she responded, the sound of footsteps alerting her to the other man’s presence in the room. There was also a scratching sound that she couldn’t quite place.

Just then, she saw Poe walking towards them, trailed by a small white dog with large orange spots. As soon as it spotted her, it began barking and charged off in her direction. Suddenly, the dog lept up onto the couch, assaulting her face with its excited tongue.

Rey giggled furiously as the dog left sloppy kisses everywhere.

“I think she likes you,” Finn chuckled.

“What’s her name?” Rey asked, once the dog had finally settled down and was panting in her lap.

“Beatrix,” Poe said, handing her a glass of water that was… actually clear? “But we just call her BB for short.”

Rey took her moment of reprieve from the dog’s attention to gulp down most of the water in the glass. She hadn’t experienced water this fresh-tasting since she’d melted Siberian snow. There were communal taps everywhere in St. Petersburg, but the water was hardly safe for drinking, and she’d usually have to pay someone to boil it clean for her. 

“You still haven’t told us yours,” Poe said, sitting down on the other end of the sofa, just close enough to reach out and rub BB’s ears.

“My name?” she asked. He nodded in response.

Rey sighed, looking down at her hands, “I don’t know.”

“You… don’t know?” Finn asked, leaning forward in the chair he’d pulled closer.

“They gave me a name at the hospital,” she explained, the hollow, empty feeling that had followed her around making itself present in her mind. “Rey. The doctors told me I had amnesia, and there was nothing they could do.”

“Well, Rey,” Finn said softly, “Tell us what you  _ do _ remember.”

She had to swallow the painful lump in her throat. She’d never told anyone these things, she’d never known anyone long enough to do so. Dasha was the only person who really even knew half of it. Still, she needed those exit papers, and they seemed kind enough, so she felt she could trust them, at least for the time being. 

“The nurses told me that a farmer found me face down in the snow along the side of a road. He thought I might’ve just fallen off a wagon and knocked myself out, but there were tracks everywhere. And blood,” she told them. “I could only stay in the hospital for so long, and once I was healthy, they sent me on my way. After that, I tried to pick up jobs anywhere I could, and I only stole when I had to. Slowly, I made my way here. I slept in the woods, in trees, caves, anywhere I could find.”

“What about this person, waiting for you in Paris?” Poe asked, the sarcasm in his voice replaced with genuine curiosity. “How do you know of them?”

Another pang in her heart. “I see flashes, bits and pieces of memories at night. In my dreams I see a city bathed in the warm glow of lights. A bridge that seems to be calling my name. But most of all, there’s a voice. A woman, with a voice like music, and she whispers, ‘I’ll meet you there. One day, we’ll be together in Paris’.”

“That sounds… beautiful,” Finn said.

Rey bit the inside of her cheek, but it was no use, “No,” she choked out, holding back her tears. “It’s not. You don’t know what it’s like, having no idea about who you are. I’ve been living in the shadows for as long as I can remember. And my dreams, they aren’t just Paris. There are flashes, and sounds, and screams echoing in my head. The feeling of something… terrible.”

They had no response to that, and she had nothing else to say. That hollowness, she might spend the rest of her life wishing it away.  _ No _ , she reminded herself,  _ the answers are in Paris _ . She had those dreams for a reason. They’d lead her to where she was meant to go, to finding out who she truly was. She just had to get there first.

“Why don’t you get some rest, okay?” Finn offered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll talk more about those exit papers in the morning.”

Rey looked up at his kind eyes and nodded. She didn’t need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! I just wanted to say thank you all so much for the awesome comments you left on the last chapter! Reading those makes me feel so insanely happy, it's unreal! I appreciate the support more than you'll ever know! Be on the lookout for the next chapter soon!  
> \- All my love

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! I'm baaaack! After a lengthy hiatus, I'm very proud to have produced this fic! Please show it some love in the comments, as it's kinda all I have going for me at the moment. If there's one good thing about not being allowed to leave my house for the foreseeable future, it's that it means this fic should be updated regularly, but no promises. Anyways, I hope everybody enjoyed it! Keep a lookout for the next chapter!  
> \- All my love, Amanda


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